


First of Many

by Lagonic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Red Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagonic/pseuds/Lagonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The troll who would become the Grand Highblood keeps seeing this one particular lowblood. And he might be infatuated with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First of Many

The first time he saw her, he was in awe of her. As part of their training, young Subjugglators were brought in to combat the periodic lowblood uprisings. The adults in charge hadn't expected to see  _her_ there, though, he thought as he reflected back on it, perhaps they ought to have, or perhaps he just knows her too well now. The instructors had pointed her out as foolhardy- a troll who just stands in the center of a killing field is likely to be killed herself. They took it back not long after when she, armed with two wickedly sharp needles, began killing on both sides, dress and skin spattered with the rainbow. He was in awe of her then, and as he looks back and thinks about it, he never stopped being in awe of her.

The second time he saw her, he was a bit older, but he hadn't forgotten her. How could you, really? Those horns were just too hard to miss, what with their graceful curve and unique spiral. The second time he saw her, she took his breath away. She had presented herself at another revolt turned bloody and he stared. The way she killed... it was elegant. It was not clean or neat by any sense of the word, but it was so efficient and elegant- the look on her face when she would eviscerate a man with a snap... It was breathtaking. And it never stopped being that way.

The third time he saw her, he worked up the courage to face away and watch her back for her. Turned away from her like that, he couldn't see the quirk of her eyebrow and the slide of her grin as the two of them wreaked havoc on whatever poor souls had the misfortune to come their way. That third time he saw her, he worked up the courage to tell her how he'd never seen anyone like her before. She laughed and called him 'darling' and said if he was lucky, he'd never see anyone like her again.

It wasn't until some sweeps later, once he had established himself as _the_ Highblood, leader of the Subjugglators, that she came to him. She looked exactly as he remembered her- petite body, in that same green dress, horns spiraling above her head. She'd been watching him, she said, and his abilities impressed her. _She_ was impressed? _He_ had impressed the Demoness? Lacking anything better to say or do, he invited her to tea. To his surprise, she accepted with all of the grace and decorum of a highblood. He couldn't help but stare at her, leaving his own tea untouched. It was all he could do to watch her, take her in with his eyes. She was really here, in his hive, watching him through half-closed eyes while she sipped her tea.

"Something on your mind, darling?"

Shit. How was he supposed to explain to a woman who could dismember him with a thought that he had gotten lost in the lines of her face and the contours of her body? He opted to growl out a noncommittal response, something about how different she was up close.

"What do you mean?"

"You're... smaller." That at least was true. Standing, the top of her head reached his elbows. "Smaller... and..." Beautiful. Dangerous. Desirable? Very desirable. Not that he imagined she had any lack of pailing solicitations. But he was _the_ motherfucking Highblood, and he would try his damnedest to have her, if she would have him. Got to be a motherfucking gentletroll about these things.

"And what?" She had leaned forward on her elbows, fingers linked loosely over her teacup.

"And you'd do me a fucking honor if you would keep me company and stay the day as my guest." The slow toothy smile growing on her lips was just too good, too attractive- it ignited something in him, an achy, burning feeling of want. Please oh please let her say yes, Messiahs. Much to his surprise (and pleasure) she answered. "It would be my pleasure to stay for the day. Besides, how can I in good conscience say no to such a handsome gentletroll?" The two of them stood and he deposited their teacups into the sink before extending a hand to her. She places one of hers in his palm, and he dwarfs it, thought the light touch makes him shiver. She notices, interest and intrigue sharp on her face as she takes a step toward him. He hopes it's clear to her what sort of company he was intending, but there's really no mistaking that her grin is a pleased one, nearly triumphant in fact. He leads her to his chambers, a warm, nervous feeling growing in his chest. It's not like he'd never had guests like this one before, but none so special as this. Wait, special? He supposed that yes, she was special. Certainly she had been right, all those sweeps ago, when she told him he would never meet someone like her again.

His chambers were luxurious and dark, with a predominant theme of black and indigo. The wall hangings, blackout curtains and even the gauzy hangings on his massive bed followed in that color scheme. The Demoness in her felt-green dress stood out, bright against the dark colors, like one of his murals. Lost as he was in thought, he didn't notice her turn his hand over or bring it to her mouth. The feathery kiss she brushed across his knuckles though, he did notice. How could he not? Her breath was warm and her lips, warmer. The second time she did it, he gasped and moved toward her, sliding one arm around her waist. When he leaned down to put himself more or less face to face with her, she dropped his hand and braced her own against him so she could lean up to meet him. Mere inches separated their lips, and taking a breath, the Highblood closed that gap between them. Her lips were impossibly soft and warm, he found, and he didn't really want to stop kissing her. Fortunately, she made no effort to stop him, instead reaching up to wreath his neck in her arms. A few moments of this position were all he could take, so he opted to scoop the smaller female up into his arms and keep kissing her. By the noises she made and the way she shifted in his arms, he figured he had made a good decision. Plus it gave him a chance to touch her ass. Her amazingly choice ass. She seemed to like it when he gripped and kneaded, so he kept it up, becoming more and more aware of what else was coming up from the contact. It wasn't helped (or perhaps it was) by the Demoness rubbing up against him and running her fingers through his hair. Damn that felt good.

Soon enough, he started pressing kisses along her jaw, then drifting down her neck. Before he knew it, her hands were skating along the zigzag closure of her dress, flicking open the impossibly tiny buttons holding the fabric together. She was giving him access to more skin, more places that he could plant open-mouthed kisses. It occurred to him then she wanted this as much as he did, derived as much pleasure from it as he did. She squirmed and slid out of his grasp, down his body, meandering toward his bed, shedding shoes as she went. Turning back, she smiled as the heavy fabric parted itself and snaked down her shoulders and over her hips. The Highblood let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and fell to his knees. Forget demon. She was a goddess and he was unworthy in her presence. She would make him worthy with her cool touch and gentle fingers. They tugged on his shirt, working to pull it up, and he helped, lest her nails slice the fabric clean through. Her hands ghosted over his skin, teasing, enticing, and he could not keep himself from letting out a groan. She laughed and asked "shall we then?" gesturing to the bed. Leaping up, he shed pants and shoes and nearly tackled her onto the soft mattress, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

Why was he doing this? What was it about her that made him want to rub himself against her until her scent was on him and his was on her? The way her body fit against his was maddening, but perfect in its madness. One of the Highblood's hands drifted down the Handmaid's arm, then across her ribs to slide his palm onto one of her breasts, marveling at the feel of it and the sight of her luminous grey skin and cherry-flushed nipple. As he nuzzled and nipped and mumbled words of praise into her neck, his mouth too, drifted down to her chest. He could feel her fingers tangle themselves into his hair, twisting and tugging the coarse strands. In a moment, he's flipped them, so she's splayed across his body, skin tingling where it meets hers. She sits herself up and reaches a hand behind her to stroke him, and he melts. He shouldn't, he's the Highblood, but she's the Demoness, and he's starting to realize just how much he wants her to stay with him, be a part of his life.

He's acutely aware of her; her hand on his bulge, how wet her nook is against him, the flush of her skin. He wants her, more than anything, she feels so good against him. He notices when she leans forward to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and he realizes that she's stopped stroking him, and instead... oh what a glorious instead. Instead of stroking him, she's positioning him, guiding him so she can sheath him inside of herself. Her brows knit together and she grits her teeth as she works to accommodate him, but oh god she's so warm and so tight and it is a struggle for him not to just start thrusting wildly, he wants her to enjoy this and if that means waiting for her to adjust so be it. But god does he want to. A few moments later, she starts to ride him oh-so-agonizingly slowly. Both of his hands drift to her ass to squeeze and urge her to ride harder and faster, which she does. The noises coming out of her mouth are like the sweetest music he's ever heard and he just wants to kiss her til neither of them can breathe, which he does, pulling her back down to him, lips crashing into lips while hips rock against one another. All too soon, he can feel the pressure building and he gropes under his bed for the pail he keeps there for such occasions as these. She's tiny enough that he can swing his legs over the side of the bed and scoop her up as to not get any of his genetic material on her. With a grunt, he's spattering into the pail, but the moment he's done, he's busy stroking her nook gently with his free hand. Within moments of his touching her, she too is leaking genetic material, the maroon and indigo marbling and swirling together in the pail. It must have been a particularly intense orgasm, since she was slumping against him, mumbling something sleepily.

"What was that?"

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "I said I think I'm keeping you."

"Keeping me? What do you mean?"

She tapped her chest. "Quadrant. You and me. Flushed."

Flushed quadrant. Matesprits. She wanted to fill a quadrant with him. As he thought about it, he realized that's what it was that he was feeling- flushed. Redromantic. That's what was so special about her; she was the one he was flush for. Climbing into the bed and curling around the tired female, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "In that case I'm keeping you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes. Bed. I have a headcanon that neither the Grand Highblood nor the Handmaid sleep in sopor. The former because his nightmares better fuel his business, and the latter because well, Doc Scratch is a dick like that.


End file.
